Interlude
by BorntothePurple
Summary: CarsFanfic Writers Challenge Story. Shortly after the Piston Cup race and the King's crash, Mrs. Weathers is faced with a choice.


This was written for the first CARSFANFIC Yahoo group first Fiction Challenge. The challenge was to write a story of 500-2000 words focusing on the King and/or his wife after the Piston Cup race. This is my entry.

_If anyone would like to join the Yahoo group and take part in the next Fiction Challenge, please pm me._

_And the disclaimer: The characters in Cars are not mine. They are the property of Pixar studios and Disney. I am merely borrowing them and have only the best intentions towards their actual creators. The character of Cable is mine._

Lynda Weathers nuzzled her husband. He nudged her back, then winced. Even such a small motion made him shudder with pain. As grateful as she was to Lightning for his kind gesture, sadness and anger filled Lynda's heart. She knew that Chick Hicks was, at that very moment, gloating over his Piston Cup, giving not the slightest thought to her husband's pain.

Cameras flashed as reporters closed in on her and the King. They shouted questions, "Mr. King, are you alright? Do you have anything to say to your fans? Mrs. Weathers, what is your reaction to the accident? Do you have anything to say to Chick Hicks about his victory?"

Lynda sure didn't want to answer questions and she knew Strip didn't either. "Please," she said. "Can't you see my husband needs medical help?"

To her intense gratitude, two police cars flanking an ambulance pushed their way through the small crowd that was gathering around her and the King. The police had no qualms about shoving the reporters aside.

"We're going to take this nice and easy," said a car who must have been a doctor or paramedic. The ramp was lowered. Strip was very gently pushed into the ambulance. The siren was turned on, and Lynda followed the ambulance out of the stadium. The reporters had to content themselves with shouting questions at her back, questions she completely ignored.

Her entire attention was focused on her husband's condition. He was strong, but not as young as he used to be, and it could be much worse than it looked. Lynda had always known the dangers of racing, the reality that every race could be a car's last. She remembered comforting the Intimidator's wife, Junior's mother, after her husband had been killed. Still, she had never really believed such a thing could happen to her and Strip.

Soon they were pulling up to the hospital, and Strip was rushed inside. She found herself in a plain, somewhat ugly waiting room. She was joined by Tex Dinaco.

"Any word yet?" the gold, horn-studded car asked.

"No. They seem to enjoy keeping me here guessing." She sighed. "How is it out there?"

"It's a three ring circus. Reporters everywhere, cops, fans. But Lynda, Strip really done us proud. It's been a great run. This doesn't take away from that. And if that dirty, low-down Hicks hadn't rammed him, the King would've finished off in second."

"I know," Lynda sighed. "And the worst part is, Hicks will get all the glory. Lightning lost, my husband lost; Chick won. He causes all the trouble, and he gets to go home with the victory."

Tex gave a laugh. "Victory, maybe, but the fans hate him. He just got booed off the stage when he went to get the cup. The reporters are calling him the most-hated car in racing. And if he thinks he's getting the sponsorship, he's crazier than a one-eyed chicken in a pecking contest."

As upset as she was, Lynda couldn't suppress a smile. Tex often amused her with his ridiculous sayings.

"Anyway," Tex continued. "Someone really should go out there and give those people a statement. Do you feel up to it?"

"Really, no," There was no way Lynda was leaving the waiting room until she knew for sure that Strip was ok.

"No problem. I'll go talk to them. Listen, you need anything, just holler."

He headed out. Almost as soon as she left, a blue sedan, apparently a doctor, caught her attention.

"Mrs. Weathers?" As if she could be anyone else. She nodded. "Your husband's going to be ok. There is some engine damage, though, that's troubling. He will need surgery and extensive body work. And we will definitely keep him a while. We want to make sure everything is fine when we send him home. But you can see him now."

She followed the doctor down a hall to her husband's room.

"Hey," she said, moving up to him. "Oh honey, look at you." Somehow, in the waiting room, she had managed to forget how bad he looked. Her eyes filled with tears.

"Oh, don't," he said immediately. "C'mon. It's not so bad." She sniffled. "Hey, I always wanted to know what it was like to fly. Though I could've done without the hitting the ground part."

She couldn't stop crying. "I love you so much. I was so scared, so scared."

"Hey…hey, its ok. I'm going to be fine. It's going to be fine. It's ok. I promise."

He was the hurt one, she thought, yet he's comforting me. She forced a smile. "Ok."

The doctor coughed to get her attention. "I think its best he rests now," he said.

"OK, sweetie," said her King. "Go get something to eat. Don't forget to eat, now, ok?"

"Ok," she followed the doctor out.

She fought her way through a crowd of reporters and drove down the road, looking for a place where she could get a pint of oil and some gas. To her intense relief, the reporters did not follow her.

She found a place a few blocks down the road. As she slowly sipped her oil, a green jeep Cherokee wandered over to her.

"Are you the wife of the King?" he asked.

Wary, she nodded.

"I want to say I'm sorry," he said. "I really hope he'll be ok."

"Thank you. The doctor's say he'll be fine." She didn't really feel like talking, but wanted to be polite to a fan.

"Thank Ford. Because that whole things was awful. I'm so glad he's ok. I'm a huge fan of your husband, ma'm. So are my friends. My name's Cable. Those're my buddies over there." He gestured toward a group of rugged-looking cars huddled around a table.

She smiled in their direction, and then turned back to her drink. It was good to know Strip's fans were behind them.

He went on. "Now, honestly, if there is ever anything we can do for you, you just let us know."

"Ok," She smiled. "Just keep us in your thoughts and prayers." She looked down at her drink. This was nice, but she really wanted to be alone with her thoughts. She hoped he'd get the message.

He didn't. Instead, he leaned forward, and said, softly. "We're going to get him, you know. Nobody gets away with that."

"Excuse me?" she blinked in surprise.

"That _Chick_." Cable spit out the name. "Nobody beats up on our favorite racer and gets away with it. He's got a lesson coming. And we're the ones who're gonna teach it to him!"

He smirked, revealing two broken teeth. A few tables away, his friends erupted into laughter over something. One of them slammed his pint of gasohol on the table and yelled for another round.

Cable was going on. "Five of us. One of him. He's in for a world of hurt."

Lynda glanced around, wondering if anyone could overhear them. No one seemed to be paying any attention.

"I just wanted you to know," Cable said, smiling at her. "When you hear about it in the news tomorrow, that was us. And we're doing it for you and the King. So don't worry. He'll never mess with either of you again."

She forced a smile. Cable glanced back at his buddies.

Cable continued to talk. He didn't seem all that drunk, rather like he was one of those guys that never shut up.

"There's a little dive bar," he was saying. "In the city, where he goes. My brother knows the bartender. He'll head home, maybe had a bit too much to drink, and WHAM! We got him!"

Cable's eyes burned passionately as they met hers. She suppressed a shudder.

"Anyway," he said, backing up. "I just thought you'd want to know. We've all got your backs."

Cable rejoined his friends. They tossed a few bills on the table and headed out the door. Cable smirked and winked at her as he passed.

Lynda sipped her drink. And as she did, some of the horror of the conversation seemed to fade.

Chick Hicks. The meanest, most down-and-dirty racer on the track. He didn't care who he hurt as long as he came out ahead. He could have killed Strip. Might well kill another car someday. Would it be so bad for him to be taught a lesson? She knew it was horrible, but didn't he deserve to know what it was like to be hurt? Beaten up, like what he had done to her husband? Wasn't it only fair? After all, they weren't going to kill him. Or were they? What if things got out of control? He'd fight back, wouldn't he? If he hurt one of them, there was no telling what the others would do. It would be five against one. No telling what damage they could do to him.

_This is insane_. She thought. _Maybe its just talk. Just drunken talk, and they don't mean it._

But the look in Cable's eyes…..

It wasn't her fault, she realized. After all, _she _wasn't going to hurt Hicks. Neither was Strip. They were completely innocent. How could they control what a group of renegade fans did? _ It wasn't her concern. _Easy as anything. Just pretend the conversation never happened …

But could she handle turning on the news tomorrow, or the next day, finding out that Chick Hicks was hurt, or worse?

She closed her eyes. She sighed. _I hate him_, she thought. _I hate him so much. Hell with it. Let him get hurt. __**Let**__ him die, if that's what's going to happen!_

But she knew she didn't mean it. As much as she hated him, she did not want Chick Hicks to die. But the look in Strip's eyes, the pain….

And Strip. What would Strip do? She thought she knew. He would call the police. That's what he would do. But he wasn't her.

_I'm not doing it._ She thought. _I'm not going to the police._

That's it. She'd made her decision. She'd live with it. She wouldn't tell anyone about the conversation. Not before the attack, not after. She wouldn't even tell her husband.

She headed back to the hospital.

Tex greeted her at the door. "I got in to see him," he said. "He seems to be in good spirits. But he'll be happy to see you."

Strip was watching television. He smiled at her as she came in. "Hey."

She gently nudged him. This time he didn't flinch. "Hey there yourself."

They were showing footage of the Piston Cup race. She frowned. Should her husband really be watching this? The familiar form of a green Buick filled the screen. Chick stood on the stage, laughing. The confetti came and blasted him on either side. Chick winced. Anger filled her. _You think those little bumps hurt? Look what you did to my husband!_ There was no sound, but the angry faces of the fans caught in the camera told the whole story. As the crowd began to throw things at Chick, Strip turned to her.

"That guy just doesn't get it." He said. "All he cares about is winning, and now he's done it dirty and will get no respect. He wanted fame, now everybody hates him. Money? Who's going to sponsor him? Everybody has problems. But Hicks? He's truly lost."

She swallowed. "Don't you…" she started. "Don't you want him to hurt for what he's done to you?"

Strip paused. "No. I mean, sure, I wish he'd realize how much he hurt me. But what good would it do? Besides, I think he's in for a world of hurt anyway."

_You have no idea _she thought.

She looked at the car on the screen. Saw the confusion in his eyes when the crowd turned on him. Was he really so obsessed and out-of-touch that he hadn't expected the crowd's reaction? And, could she really imagine his body battered, his frame bent, maybe crushed? Could she really imagine him hurt, destroyed? Somehow seeing him on the television brought it all home.

"Excuse me for a second." She said.

Strip looked surprised. "Where are you going?"

"Just something I got to do." She left the room and headed down the hall. A doctor called out to her. She ignored him.

She headed for a pay phone she had seen in the lobby. She nudged the button. "Hello," she said to the operator. "Can you get me the police?"


End file.
